Guns and Roses
by Infamoux
Summary: AU. When a rogue spy attempts to assassinate a peace-making delegate from a former enemy land, the government must send its top spies to bring him down before he tries it again. And what better person for the job than one Haruno Sakura? SasuSaku. Request.


**A/N: OMG, yes, I'm still alive. Hallelujah.**

**Pairing: **SasuSaku! :D

**Side-Pairing(s): **None... yet.

**Warning(s): **Erm. Naruto?

**AU, het. Maybe some yaoi in later chapters. Muhuhu. :3 Rating likely to go up 'cause of violence. YAY. Blood. :D**

**R'n'Review! Or suffer the consequences. Whoo. nwn**

**Chapter 1  
Rain**

**.o.0.o.**

It was 05:42AM. Grey clouds gathered overhead, filling the air with millions and millions of crystal-clear droplets, which cascaded down in swirling sheets of rain, blown by the chilly morning air. The only sound was the delicate pitter patter of the silver raindrops as they hit the tiled rooftop and exploded into a million other tiny beads of water.

She stood still for a moment, relishing the feel of the cold rain on the pale skin of her bare arms, as apple-green eyes, alight with joy, watched the dancing raindrops. She took an uncertain step forward, careful not to slip on the slick surface of the roof, and then, suddenly, broke into a sort of crazy dance, spinning around in circles, as her laughter mingled with the music of water. She scuffed her waterlogged sneaker against the roof, splashing water up to meet the cascading rain, and then spread her arms wide as she slowly span in a circle, eyes shut, face turned towards the heavens as cold droplets hit her flushed face, running down her neck in rivulets. She stopped gracefully, and performed a silly little curtsy, as if bowing to a cheering audience, before realizing that someone else _might_ actually be crazy enough to be on their roof at this time, in the pouring rain. And how silly would she look, this young woman of twenty-one; dancing around on her roof at 6 AM; clothes soaked through; her hair sticking to her face and scalp in a wet mess; and acting like she was a six-year-old?

_Ah, chuck it. It's a free country._

Despite her defiant thoughts, she pulled back the strands of bubble-gum pink hair that clung to her face, and quickly scanned the vacant rooftops around her, her sharp eyes picking up no sign of movement, other than that of the rain.

Satisfied that she was alone, she returned her focus upon the cascading sheets of water, as she stood still—shoulders slightly hunched to ward off the cold, and arms wrapped around her—and let her mind wander. Her thoughts drifted back to rainstorms of her childhood, as she thought of her mother; a religious, conservative lady who would have never allowed her darling little daughter to go out to play in the rain. In her family, splashing through mud puddles and playing all day in sun-bathed, grassy fields were activities suited to boys, not girls. Girls were supposed to stay at home, dolled-up, and learn the prim ways of high society.

But, despite her mother's somewhat strict demeanor, Sakura had loved the soft smile-crinkles around her almond eyes, and the times when she'd brush Sakura's fine, waist-length hair at night, braid them into soft plaits, and kiss her forehead before she turned out the light. If it weren't for her father's strict rules, maybe her mother would have even let her play in the rain sometimes.

But, even though she wasn't allowed to join her elder brother—Arashi—when he used to run out of the door with his teal raincoat as soon as the rain got heavier; jumping off of the rose-bush-lined verandah, and out the gate, water already soaking his messy, apple-green hair; she still got to sit in front of the cozy fire; curling up on the soft hearth rug, with Tsuki, her kitten, in her lap. Her mother would sit in one of the squashy armchairs beside the rug, dressed in a silken evening robe, and Sakura would look up at her through big, apple-green eyes, absentmindedly stroking Tsuki's soft, midnight black fur, and wait for her mother to tell her a story—Any story. It didn't necessarily have to be a fairytale; sometimes her mother would reminisce about her childhood, sometimes she would talk about Sakura's future—as a well-groomed lady, who was to be married to the son of a neighboring landlord. Someone whom she had never met; this having been decided when she was still a baby.

Sakura was appalled at the idea, when she found out about it, and had tried to talk to her father to convince him to break off the engagement. The only response she got in return was a resounding slap—one which left a mark on her cheek for almost two weeks—and a lecture about obeying family rituals, and following traditions.

But, in their rainy-day stories, sometimes, her mother would talk about her religion, and about God, and how He was very Beneficial. She would often give Sakura the example of rain; how all of those raindrops, millions and trillions of them, could not even come _close _to the blessings that God had showered them with.

And right now, standing there, drenched and shivering lightly, she watched the endless downpour of droplets, and wondered if it really was true. She wondered if there _was_ a God, and if there was, why He hadn't saved her mother from the cancerous tumor that had taken her life. Maybe—probably—in some form or the other, there _was_ a God, a Being who took care of all of the diseased, ill-fated creatures, and Created fruits and herbs to nourish them, and springs of sparkling water to sustain them. A Being Who made sure the balance of the Earth never went awry, Who cited the time and place and means of death and birth of every individual and every creature. But, she believed that religion has to come from the heart, not the brain, and since her heart did not believe, neither did she.

She shook her head to clear it of these thoughts, and started downstairs, being careful not to slip on the slick metal steps of the staircase that led down to the terrace of her house. The house she shared with her best friend Naruto Uzumaki, actually. The loud, cheerful blond was probably still asleep, she knew; he had never been an early-morning person.

Taking off her maroon sneakers and carrying them in her hand, she walked inside, trying—and failing—not to drip water all over the clean, shiny, black tiles. She walked through the comfortably quiet house, the only sound being the familiar hum of various appliances and gadgets, and the now-familiar—since it was the Monsoon season, and it rained almost every single day—muffled patter of the rain.

Softly closing the white-painted door of her bedroom behind her, she placed the sneakers in the bathroom, and quickly grabbed some clothes—a pair of navy sweats, and an over-sized white T-shirt with a stylized leaf stenciled on the back—from her walk-in closet, and returned to the bathroom. Stepping out of her soggy PJ's, and peeling her soaked tee over her head, she stepped into the shower, and let out a happy sigh as the warm jets of water hit her skin, warming her up and relaxing her muscles. She stayed under the stream for a good fifteen minutes, and then stepped out of the frosted-glass cubicle into the steamy, rose and cream-colored bathroom. Wrapping her wet hair in a fluffy, cream towel, she wiped the condensation on the mirror away with her hand, and found her green-eyed reflection looking back at her. Grinning, she quickly pulled on her warm clothes, inhaling the faint smell of fabric softener.

Spreading her wet clothes out on the towel rack to dry, she walked back into her room, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Her room had two levels; a loft-space with a large futon in it; and the level below where the rest of her stuff was. Padding over to the honey-coloured, wooden ladder leading up to the loft, the smooth rungs cool beneath her palms, she climbed up.

The lower level of her room was more high-tech, but the upper loft was more girly and old-fashioned. One wall of the loft was made of entirely of glass, with gauzy white curtains drawn against the weak, early-morning sunlight, and the rest of the walls were covered in creamy white wallpaper with bunches of red berries amid wispy swirls. A white hammock chair, with hot pink cushions, and a light, pastel-pink blanket draped over the back, was suspended from the ceiling, near the window. A sleek floor lamp and white table stood next to it. Apart from that, there was a futon, covered with a fluffy, leopard-print comforter in strawberry pink and white, pulled down to reveal light pink silk covers. Plopping down on her bed, gratefully, she rolled over onto her back to stare at the black-painted ceiling with the tiny, star-shaped lights. Her best girl friend, Ino, an interior designer, had designed their house to fit their needs and personalities.

She smiled at the thought of Ino, remembering the blonde's trademark 'Like, double-yoo tee eff, SERIOUSLY?' look when Sakura had finally given in to her pleadings, demands, and threats, and told her the nature of her new job. The one that kept her away from home for weeks on end, and the one she was always so secretive about.

**.o.0.o.**

**T.B.C. YAY.**

**A/N: **I always used to hatehatehatehateHATE all those evil, multi-chaptered-fic-writing authors who'd go crazy with cliffhangers, but, I must admit, it's FUN. Mwahahaha. I'll be updating 'soon', hopefully. I have the entire 2nd chapter thought out, since it was originally going to be one big 1st chapter, but I'm too excited about finally posting something on here again after almost a year, to wait 'til I write the whole thing.

**BTW, everybody, I changed my penname. My previous penname was Infamoux.**

Lol, for some strange reason, I always get the inspiration to write this story around 6 AM after a sleepless night. Not exactly the best sleep cycle, but I'm still alive (Yay.). This is gonna be a multi-chaptered thing, as requested by Zuni-tan (3), which is a challenge enough for a One-Shot Author like me, not to mention I don't really know much about Naruto; I started off writing for Beyblade. So please bear with my nonsensical rantings, because, honestly, at this point, I REALLY need to work out some kinks in the storyline. Writing a spy story isn't all that easy, apparently. If anyone has any ideas, it'd be really kind of 'em to tell me so I can cheat off of them. [: LOL, jk, but seriously, constructive criticism, please. :D

Aaaand my computer doesn't have A7X songs! EVERYTHING. Must. Contain. Avenged Sevenfold. *Rabid, zombified fangirl* Lol, I'm actually out of available space. -.-'' So I'm stuck listening to Creed's With Arms Wide Open over and over and over, because I'm too lazy/comfortable to get up and get my phone.

**R.I.P. Jimmy 'The Rev' Sullivan; one of the best drummers on the planet. 3**

**P.S.: If there are any mistakes, excuse 'em, please. -w-**

**P.P.S.: If you want me to update faster, review! *Coughbribecough* It motivates me. ;w;**

**Nyuu.**

**x Infa.**


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